Burning Redemption
by assimilates
Summary: When the man behind the monster is brought fourth to carry out the bidding of a modern day empire, he is given a choice: do the bidding or take advantage of this mysterios second chance and gain redemption. [xover with Angel, in progress]


**" BURNING REDEMPTION "**

_00. PROLOGUE_**  
**

For twenty years, he'd gazed out upon the world through the red-tinted screens within the helmet that confined him. It was his eternal prison and he embraced it, though he felt he deserved far less than what he had been given. Time and time again, he wished that he'd died on that rocky ledge next to the lava on Mustafar - and he would have, if not for the burning hatred he felt for his former master and the sting of betrayal his wife had inflicted upon him. Obi-Wan should've killed him instead of crippling him beyond repair. He'd lost everything on that molten lava planet and had willingly allowed Palpatine to shape him into the monster he had become. It was a half life, but a _life_, and the only one he really deserved after all that he had done. If he deserved one at all.

Once upon a time, he had been a champion of the Clone Wars, the famed Hero Without Fear. But, that title didn't suit him. He was anything but a hero and his fear had been his undoing. The fear he felt for the lives of his beloved wife and unborn child would ultimately cause their deaths. Padmé Amidala, the woman he had fallen in love with during his youth, would die at his own hand as he reached out into the Force and seized her throat in order to silence her lying mouth...

But, Padmé hadn't been lying. She was right. They all were. His future had been clouded by his hate and his delusions of being an omnipotent being had twisted his outlook. His true self, that bright-eyed little boy on Tatooine, would've never strangled his wife and caused the death of his child. What a monster he had become.

He spent more than half of his adult life believing that his unborn child had died with the wife he had killed. But somehow, his child - no _children_, had survived. He wasn't sure how they did, perhaps it was Obi-Wan's doing. After all, the boy had been with him on the first Death Star. They had survived, despite the fact that their mother had died. How did the girl end up on Alderaan and where had the boy been? These were questions he knew not the answers to, and he wasn't sure he even wanted to.

If he had known then what he knew now... Alderaan would still be a prosperous world and Leia... He would've never tortured his own daughter for information. He had thought the baby would be a girl, and he was right. But, she saw him for the monster that he was and not the father he wished he could have been. Leia hated him and he didn't blame her. He didn't even deserve to be acknowledged as her father.

Luke, on the other hand, was a mystery to him. The faith, admiration, and respect that the boy showed for him was confusing. Why didn't the boy hate him? Hadn't he tried to kill him on countless occasions? Hadn't he severed his hand as Count Dooku had done his own arm? After all the horrid things he had done to the boy and to the boy's friends and loved ones... Luke still didn't hate him.

When he first heard that the boy donned the name 'Skywalker,' he had been shocked and infuriated. He believed some young upstart was clinging to the false legacy a monstrous man had created for himself during his reckless youth. That the boy had falsely taken the name to empower himself somehow. It had taken him a long time before he would accept that this boy was indeed his son.

And he was almost too late.

He'd denied the identity and presence of his offspring for so long, because them being alive only dammed him further, for he could have been there for them. Even in this crippled state, he could have been there.

He remembered, he had been so..._overjoyed_ when Padmé told him she was pregnant. He was so eager to be a father, yet he ignored and neglected his wife when she needed him the most. He was too obsessed with saving her to notice. How blind he had been to her pain and loneliness...

'_All I want is your love...come away with me...I love you..._'

He'd killed her. The fact that his children survived did nothing to lift the guilt draped across his conscience. Nothing could change what he had done, and because of it, he would always be that twisted, Sith monster.

And now, these undeserving eyes - eyes that had lost their vibrant blue hue long ago to the flames that engulfed him - were allowed to look upon the face of his grown son, without his masked prison. But, without the oxygen feed from the helmet sustaining his breath, he began to fade fast.

He didn't deserve this last moment of bliss, but he _needed_ it. So, he allowed himself to be selfish one last time and found himself both shocked and amazed to see his younger self reflected back at him in Luke. In every fiber of his being, Luke was his father's son. And a far better man than he'd ever been.

"I've got to save you," Luke stammered, rushed and panicked.

The dying monster before the young man tried to lift a hand to comfort his boy, but his limbs no longer obeyed him. Somehow, instead, he found his voice - one that was hoarse and broken without the aid of the speech regulator in his helmeted prison.

"You already have, Luke. You were right about me," he said weakly. "Tell your sister, you were right..."

He couldn't make out what Luke said next, because death took hold of him - surprisingly, gently - and pulled his essence from what was left of his broken body. The last thing he saw, was his son's face and the tears in his blue eyes. Luke was becoming everything he ever dreamed of being. Yes, the boy was far greater than he.

'_I am a Jedi, like my father before me_.'

Everything went black.

Death.

And for a moment, he felt the presence of Qui-Gon Jinn, Obi-Wan, and Yoda...and then...

"He's awake."

The light assaulted his eyes as he was jolted into some sort of consciousness, and he recoiled into the shadows, hiding from the brightness. He found himself shivering from an unexplained cold and curled up in attempt to warm himself.

"Did it work?"

"See for yourself. He's in there."

He winced as an even brighter light shone upon him for a moment, moving further into the darkness in order to hide his eyes.

"Well, would you look at that! He's hiding from the light! I thought you said this one wasn't a vampire."

"He might as well have been. Our records show that his eyes were severely damaged in a battle with--"

"Your _records_ are a bunch of cult science fiction movies. They have yet to show themselves as fact."

"With all due respect, sir, the fact that he's in there shows that th--"

"How do we know it's really him? Hmm? Exactly. Lets get this mess out of here, then we'll do something in order to verify his identify. And for your sake, it had better be him."

The bright light dimmed and he let out a sigh of relief as the voices faded. Was this the afterlife? Why hadn't he merged with the Force...was it because of all the things that he had done? He wouldn't be surprised if that was the case. Fate was cruel and it was just. But then, why was he shivering with cold, why--

He took air into his lungs and let it out, waiting to hear the raspiness of his burned throat, to feel the pain in his chest, to hear the harsh release of air from the breathing regulator in his helmet...but nothing of the sort happened.

He was _breathing_.

The dark lord of the Sith lay there for a moment, drawing air in and out of his lungs. He took joy out of feeling that simple sensation, for it was one he had not experienced since his lungs had been burned by the flames on Mustafar.

He cried out as he was suddenly jolted and thrown across the darkened room he was in, colliding with the cold wall on the other side. And then, there was the sensation of moving within some sort of vehicle. The ride was short, for soon he found himself jolted once more as the moving came to a stop.

His ears - by the Force, he could _hear_ - were now adjusted to this strange environment, and he heard footsteps draw near. He waited, focusing on the voices that soon made themselves known. One male and one female, from what he could tell.

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea."

"Oh please, like I'm going to believe that the dark knight is in that cage."

Cage. It wasn't a room. It was a _cage_.

"The dark knight was Batman. This isn't Batman. It's Darth Vader."

"Both are fictional nobodies, so it's all the same to me. Batman, Darth Vader, Bugs Bunny. All I know is that, there's someone in there, and that someone _isn't_ Darth Vader. He's not real. Do I need to have someone bring you a dictionary so you can look up the word 'fictional'?"

He felt his face twisting, contorting into a sneer as he was referred to by both voices as Darth Vader. That monster was dead. He was dead. He shouldn't be alive! All of this was wrong. Very wrong. The fates were playing some sort of cruel joke on him.

"All right, but don't say I didn't warn you."

"What's that supposed to mean? You can't possibly still believe that Darth Vader is in that cage. It's impossible! You're delusional. Darth Vader was a fictional character. He--"

"Was one of the _greatest_ villains of all time. He wreaked havoc like no one else could. The man was a monster, and we need a monster. Someone who will do our dirty work for us and rid of us certain...nuisances."

"And what makes you think he'll actually obey? What do you have to offer him?"

"Power."

"Whatever, but I'll humor you - just to see how this plays out. Hopefully, in my favor." A moment passed and the cage jerked and a wall fell, opening a passage way out of the darkness. "Welcome, Darth Vader."

"Remember, Lilah, I warned you."

Lilah Morgan only had time to look up at a smirking Lindsey McDonald, before she was thrown against the wall, grabbing at her throat in attempt to removing a choking hand that wasn't there. And then, just as suddenly, she was released, and fell to the ground, gasping for air.

"What the hell?" She breathed, and then looked up. "That can't...be him..."

Still within the cage's opening, lay not the suited being from the big screen, but a blonde-haired, blue-eyed..._human_. He was fixed on his side, his legs drawn up to his chest. One arm - his right - was extended towards Lilah. His eyes were upon it, a mixed look of fear and disbelief dancing in his eyes.

And he screamed.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

_"Star Wars" is © George Lucas; "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and "Angel" are © Joss Whedon._

12.04.2005, edited 02.15.2007


End file.
